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I'm a Killer
I'm a killer. There's no way around it. It's the truth, so why sugarcoat it? Almost everyday, I end the life of an innocent person, someone who never saw it coming. And the days I don't, I spend planning my next kill, and the one after that.... I probably qualify as a serial killer, based just on my surface-level knowledge of what that entails. I've certainly killed more than three people over an extended period of time. Hell, I even had what you might call a "cooling off period." I spent that time searching my soul. Oh, I have one, for sure. And do you know where it led me? Right back to the cold steel of my favorite weapon. I've always had the urge to kill and destroy. It's part of me. Death is in my blood. I love it. It's primal, delicious, liberating. When I was a boy, I'd go out into the woods just past my backyard. There I'd find an unlucky chipmunk, or a squirrel. I got really good at catching them. Once I had them, well… do you know how many different ways there are to kill an animal? I started with breaking necks. Feeling the little creatures squirm and then go limp in my hands gave me such a feeling of power. The pop of their skulls coming loose from their spinal columns aroused me. I got high from it. It was euphoric. But soon, as with all pleasures, it wasn't enough anymore. I wanted... no, I needed to see blood. To cut, to maim, to eviscerate. I started bringing knives with me to the woods. At first, it would be any knife I could get my hands on, provided I could guarantee my mother wouldn't notice it missing from the kitchen. But then, one fateful summer day, I discovered the retractable box cutter. What a wonderful instrument! I never would have given it up if I didn't have to. My childhood games were fun, and to this day, I've never loved anything quite so much. But, as what happens to most of us, I got older. When I hit about sixteen, I knew I had a decision to make. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that what I wanted to do was graduate to taking human lives. Animals would no longer satisfy me. A human life---or two, or three---would be the ultimate rush, I thought. But how? How could I go about making my dreams come true without being caught, or even arousing suspicion? That's how I ended up here. It was the only thing I could think of and, so far, it's been a godsend. Every day, when the nurse comes in and tells me that yet another fearful young lady is waiting to see me, I can't help but wonder if this was how it felt in olden times to be a merchant watching eagerly as the ships sail into the harbor, carrying all the goods you'll need to keep yourself going. The women---many of them teenagers---are the ships. They sail into my harbor, carrying the victims I seek so eagerly---the innocent children, there in their wombs---and they are often all too happy to let me take what I want. May they never stop coming! Lately, though, I've started to feel like maybe I don't get quite the same rush from these proceedings that I used to. If the abortions ever stop satisfying me... well then... who knows what's next? Category:Weird Category:Reality Category:Mental Illness Category:Jdeschene